


Far To Go

by ridiculously



Series: Whole Lotta Love [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean, Bottom Castiel, Castiel's Weird Family, Consent, Cuddly Dean, Dean snores, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Insurance Salesman Castiel, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Morning After, Past Balthazar/Castiel, The Beginning, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 03:52:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2413997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ridiculously/pseuds/ridiculously
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Cas?" Dean asked in the darkness beside him and Castiel smiled at how familiar the nickname sounded already.</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>"What does your name mean?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Far To Go

"Cas?" Dean asked in the darkness beside him and Castiel smiled at how familiar the nickname sounded already.

"Yeah?"

"What does your name mean?"

Castiel shifted against Dean's side, running his stubbled chin against Dean's bare shoulder while he mulled over his response. Usually it was the first thing people asked him and he almost opened his mouth to give Dean his standard reply, but he hesitated. They laid in Castiel's lumpy bed, an air of drowsiness and satiety hung about the room.

Dean had called Castiel a week prior to say the parts for his Volvo were still on backorder. The conversation had lasted over an hour and only ended when Castiel's cell phone died. He'd called Dean the next evening just to apologize but they ended up falling asleep together hours later, phones pressed against their ears.

They’d continued on like this for a few days until Dean had texted him, “Fuck it man, you wanna hang out?”

Dean had driven across town after work, since Castiel’s car was still under repair. They’d gone to a bar not far from Wall Lake, shot pool, and sipped beer on the cracked vinyl barstools. Not long into their third round, Dean had casually rested his hand on Castiel’s thigh. Castiel had laced his fingers through Dean’s and squeezed experimentally, raising his eyebrow to Dean in a silent question. Dean’s skin had slowly grown pink and warm, and he gave the barest of nods before dropping a twenty on the bar and pulling Castiel out into the twilight.

Castiel had leaned against the Impala in the fading light, pulling Dean into his personal space by the lapels of his leather jacket. Dean’s mouth had been soft and hesitant on his, but when Castiel licked against Dean’s lips, he’d responded eagerly with a gasp and a tilt of his head to welcome Castiel in. Dean’s hands had moved to Castiel’s hair, while Castiel used the back pockets of Dean’s jeans to draw him closer. Dean mouthed at Castiel’s neck, biting gently, tongue laving the sting like a cat licking milk. Castiel groaned and rolled his hips into Dean.

The sound of bottles being thrown into the bar’s garbage bin out back jolted them apart, blushing like guilty teenagers. They’d locked eyes and something had passed between them; a wordless agreement, Castiel thought, to take matters somewhere more private. He slid into the passenger seat of the Impala, but once Dean was behind the wheel, he’d pulled Castiel into the middle of the bench and wrapped his arm around Castiel’s shoulders. Castiel ran his hand up Dean’s thigh and nibbled his earlobe and the drive back to Castiel’s apartment passed to the tune of Dean’s sighs.

Dean had kicked off his boots as soon as the front door had closed behind them. His jacket was next, and Castiel’s trenchcoat joined it in a puddle on the welcome mat soon after. Castiel had a sense of burning from the inside out: his cheeks flamed where Dean’s hands held him as they picked up where they’d left off in the parking lot. His skin was fevered under his hoodie and he itched to unzip it. Dean seemed to feel the heat, too, and soon they were pushing layers out of the way and pulling hems up and over heads and then Castiel’s chest seared at the contact of Dean’s naked ribs against his.

“Dean,” Castiel had breathed in the few seconds their lips were parted. “Bedroom. That way,” he’d pointed in the general direction down the hall.

They stumbled their way down the hall, and when Castiel turned his bedroom light on, he’d openly gaped at Dean’s bare torso. He was tan, and covered in freckles, and Castiel had unconsciously reached out to rub his hands up and down Dean’s tattooed arms. “They’re so pretty,” he’d said, as Dean had reached for him at the same time.

“It’s, I mean...I haven’t done this in a long time, Cas.” Dean’s soft green eyes had bored into Castiel’s, shy and searching.

Castiel kissed him deeply, savoring the little nips and sucks Dean took against his bottom lip. “It’s okay, Dean. We don’t have to, if you don’t want,” Castiel backed away slowly, finding the edge of the bed and sitting down.

“No, no!” Dean protested. “That’s not what I meant.” He’d come to stand between Castiel’s legs, hands on his shoulders, sending tendrils of heat curling through Castiel’s body. This close to Dean, he’d wondered if he could possibly count each individual freckle on Dean’s chest. “I just, um, I haven’t been with a guy in a...while.”

He’d looked as nervous as Castiel felt, which was somehow reassuring. Bolstered, Castiel had slipped his hands to Dean’s belt and unbuckled it, holding Dean’s wide eyes as he unzipped his fly. “Is this okay?” Castiel asked.

“Yes,” Dean had whispered, closing his eyes as Castiel pushed his jeans down.

“Is this okay?” Castiel had asked as he ran his fingers up Dean’s thighs, feeling the soft scratch of hair against his palms, pausing with his fingers on the waistband of Dean’s boxer briefs.

“Yes,” Dean had sighed, pressing his hips closer to Castiel and arching his back as Castiel pulled his underwear down.

Dean’s pink cock bobbed free, stiff and long, slightly curved to the left, and glistening with a bead of precome at the tip. Castiel ran his hands up the curve of Dean’s ass, resting his hands on Dean’s hips. He pulled him close enough to lay a kiss to the soft flesh below Dean’s belly button, gradually moving downward until his lips hovered over the patch of light brown hair at the base of Dean’s erection.

“Is this okay?” Castiel asked, emboldened by Dean’s consent.

“Cas,” Dean said, as he threaded his fingers through Castiel’s hair. “Please.” It sounded like a prayer and the desperation in Dean’s voice went straight to Castiel’s dick. He pressed his lips to Dean’s head then opened his mouth and took him in.

Dean’s dick was warm and heavy against his tongue, his precome salty and bitter. Castiel moved without haste, holding Dean by the hips to keep him still while Castiel worked further down his length with each bob. Dean’s hands in his hair were gentle, stroking Castiel’s unruly strands rather than gripping or pulling. Castiel managed to take most of Dean’s cock in his mouth before he hit his throat and pulled away slightly. He added his hand to twist on the downstroke and hummed with delight when Dean gasped above him.

“So good, Cas,” Dean mumbled. “Feels so good.”

Castiel pulled back, slurping a little on the way up. His untouched cock ached and he needed Dean’s hands on him, touching him anywhere. Everywhere.

“I want you to fuck me, Dean,” Castiel said, looking up at Dean with hooded eyes. Dean’s eyes flew wide, the green irises swallowed almost completely by black.

“Cas,” Dean swallowed hard. Castiel’s eyes followed his Adam’s apple on the journey up and down Dean’s long neck. Castiel’s eyes roamed over the expanse of flesh and muscle and All American Man standing in front of him, unabashed longing in his eyes.

Castiel linked his fingers with Dean’s and pulled him down on top of him on the bed. He kissed Dean until they were both breathless and Dean began grinding his hips against Castiel’s.

“Let’s get you out of these pants,” Dean finally said.

Castiel lifted his hips and Dean pushed his jeans and boxers to his ankles. Dean’s palm wrapped warmly around Castiel’s cock and he could have cried with relief at the contact. Dean pumped him steadily in his fist, Castiel writhing each time Dean’s thumb grazed the tip. Castiel’s entire being tingled.

“Dean, please,” he panted. “The drawer, condoms and lube.” He felt Dean pull away and fumble in the night table, heard the familiar tear of perforated foil.

“Cas, look at me,” Dean said from above him. Castiel found his face. “You sure?”

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel growled. “I want you.”

Dean’s slick finger still surprised him when it circled Castiel’s hole. Castiel involuntarily clenched against the intrusion, but he soon relaxed under Dean’s ministrations. First one finger entered him, then two. The stretch burned, but dulled into sheer pleasure. Castiel’s toes curled when a deft bend of Dean’s fingers teased his prostate. “Mmm, there. More,” he urged.

Dean readily complied, fucking in and out of Castiel with two and then three fingers. Castiel felt loose and needy and wrapped his legs around Dean’s waist in impatience. “I’m ready. Unff, Dean, I’m ready.”

He shut his eyes at the loss of contact when Dean pulled away to put on the condom. Castiel pushed down against the slicked up head of Dean’s dick when he lined himself up. And then suddenly, Dean was in him, stretching and filling him with a good hurt. Dean slid in slowly until he bottomed out, allowing Castiel a moment to adjust. Castiel didn’t need a moment, he needed Dean to move, to fuck him. “Please, Dean, move,” Castiel begged.

Dean didn’t need to be told twice. He rutted into Castiel hard and fast, eyes rolling back in his head. Castiel clung to Dean’s hands. His legs shook with the effort of staying wrapped around Dean’s waist. Their arms were like jello from the strength of their hands gripping each other. Castiel arched his back, clenching around Dean each time his cock rubbed Castiel’s sweet spot.

Dean took Castiel’s dick in his hand, jerking him in time with Dean’s movements. Dean’s thrusts quickly became more and more erratic, but Castiel didn’t care. He was riding a tsunami of sensation and he wasn’t sure how much longer his body could stay above water.

“Ugh, Cas. Mmm, yes,” Dean said.

Castiel moaned with each snap of Dean’s hips. “Dean, yes, yes, I’m gonna,” he frantically tried to put words together, but his body was too overwhelmed. He came in a hot spurt in Dean’s fist.

“Oh, fuck, Cas,” Dean closed his eyes and rode out his own orgasm deep inside Castiel.

Dean’s hips stuttered once, twice more and then he fell forward onto Castiel’s chest. They lay silent but for their breath, heavy and shallow. Castiel walked his fingers up and down the ladder of Dean’s spine.

With a grunt, Dean pushed himself off of Castiel. “Bathroom?” He asked. Castiel reached his arms out and Dean took the hint, pulling him up from the bed.

Dean threw the condom away and washed his hands and face while Castiel admired the view from the bathroom door. When Dean caught Castiel staring in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, he’d winked and Castiel saw his own reflection grow pink. Dean turned to leave the bathroom and Castiel stepped out of his way before squeezing back in the room and moving to close the door. “Gotta piss,” he informed Dean and shut the door.

In truth, Castiel needed a moment. He washed his face and cleaned the cooling come off his stomach. He sat on the rim of the bathtub and bounced his knees up and down. While he and Balthazar had maintained a mutual agreement of casual (and mostly drunken) hookups during college and for a while after they’d graduated, Castiel had never really gotten the hang of one night stands. He wasn’t sure what Dean wanted; he half expected Dean to be dressed and gone by the time he finally opened the bathroom door. Castiel didn't fully know what he wanted, either.

Whatever it was Castiel wanted from Dean, he knew he would never figure it out if he hid in the bathroom for the rest of the night.

When he came back to his bedroom, Dean was wearing his boxers and lying with his hands behind his head, looking for all the world like Castiel’s bed was in fact his own. Their clothes had been collected from the front hall and piled up in the corner.

Dean turned his face towards Castiel. “Hey,” he said, all confidence and charm.

Castiel tilted his head and squinted at Dean. “Hello, Dean,” he replied.

“You gonna stand there staring at me, or you gonna come to bed?” Dean asked.

Castiel picked up his own underwear from the floor and slipped them on before sliding into bed next to Dean. “Little presumptuous, don’t you think?” Castiel asked, only marginally serious.

“Fine,” Dean said, “I’ll leave.” He moved to get out of bed, but Castiel grabbed his wrist to hold him in place. Dean smiled victoriously. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Castiel gave a small laugh, turned off the lamp, and tried to settle in beside Dean. He felt tense, unable to fully relax with a stranger sharing his bed, until Dean snuck his arm behind Castiel’s shoulders and pulled him into Dean’s side. Castiel fit his chin into Dean’s shoulder and slowly draped an arm across his waist.

Castiel slowly allowed the rise and fall of Dean’s chest, a soft, hazy sort of peace, to carry him to the edge of sleep. It was strange, and yet, not at all strange, how easily Dean seemed to fit beside him. Castiel felt a sense of comfort next to Dean that he hadn’t felt since before Gabriel had left home.

Dean shifted beside him and cleared his throat. “Cas?”

Castiel smiled against Dean’s skin. “Yeah?”

“What does your name mean?” Dean sounded much as he did when he’d asked Castiel about Springsteen the night they’d met: genuinely interested.

Castiel paused, the response he reserved for strangers and casual acquaintances dying on his tongue. He knew somehow that Dean would never be, couldn’t possibly be just a casual acquaintance.

He sighed quietly. “My brothers, Michael and Gabriel, are named for archangels,” he began. Castiel ran his cheek against the warmth of Dean’s skin, grounding himself in the present while weaving the story of his past. “I was supposed to have been named after Raphael, I think.”

“Why weren’t you?” Dean’s hand brushed up Castiel’s side.

“My mother believed in signs,” Castiel continued. “I was born on a Thursday, and she told my father that Raphael was too heavy a weight for Thursday’s child to carry.”

“Thursday’s child?” Dean asked.

“That old nursery rhyme,” Castiel explained. “‘Monday’s child is fair of face, Tuesday’s child is full of grace...’”

Dean hummed. “Never heard it,” he said.

“‘Wednesday’s child is full of woe, Thursday’s child has far to go’?” Castiel lifted his face to gaze at Dean curiously.

“So you have far to go?” Dean smiled at him, but Castiel felt his hands flex and contract, as if trying to keep Castiel from wandering.

“I don’t think I’m going anywhere,” Castiel whispered, and then realized he’d spoken aloud. He turned his face into Dean’s shoulder to hide the blush creeping up his throat. It was dark in the room, but he was sure Dean could see it.

Dean shifted in bed, rolling Castiel nearly on top of him. His green eyes sought Castiel’s in the darkness. “Good,” Dean said, threading his fingers into Castiel’s hair and pulling their lips together. Castiel swam in the fluid freedom of Dean’s mouth, like they’d been doing this for years, not days. Not hours.

Dean pulled back slowly. “You still haven’t told me what Castiel means, though,” he said, and Castiel found his full name sounded strange on Dean’s tongue.

“Castiel is the Angel of Thursday,” he said. “Helps people born on Thursdays, and answers people who pray on Thursdays.” Castiel shrugged uncomfortably, the weight of his mother’s beliefs settling over him for the first time in many years.

“Wait,” Dean interrupted. “Your mom thought Raphael was too heavy a name for you, but not Castiel? Come on, Cas, either way, those are some big shoes to fill.”

“Which is why I usually tell people that Castiel is symbolized by an archer in Tarot readings and my mom was kind of a hippie.” He felt Dean’s laugh travel through his body.

They grew silent, Dean’s fingers trailing up his side dragging Castiel closer and closer to sleep. He was comfortable and relaxed, warm and pleasantly sore. Dean’s breathing deepened and Castiel noticed a tiny whistling snore escape him every now and then.

Castiel turned away from Dean, mashing his pillow into a more comfortable shape. Dean felt the loss of contact and rolled towards Castiel in his sleep. He allowed Dean to curl around him and Castiel found Dean’s hand with his own. The rhythmic rise and fall of Dean’s chest against his back lulled Castiel to sleep not long after.

Castiel woke much later to the gray light of pre-dawn. He’d tossed and turned and rolled to the other side of the bed, away from Dean, in his sleep. Castiel blinked heavily and saw their bodies still faced each other, arms stretching out across the sheets between them, fingertips just barely touching. Castiel smiled, but withdrew his hand slowly, strangely desperate to not wake Dean.

He eased himself out of bed, feet cold in the morning air. As quietly as he could, Castiel grabbed the first shirt his fingers found in the pile on the floor and drew on a pair of gray socks lying by his dresser. He slipped into the bathroom to brush his teeth and discovered that the shirt he’d picked up was actually Dean’s flannel.

Castiel padded to the kitchen, not bothering to turn on the lights. He filled the coffee pot and stood at the kitchen window, watching the morning slowly change color over Wall Lake. He poured himself a cup of coffee and was reaching into the fridge for milk when he heard Dean shuffle into the room.

Dean’s hair was stuck in various spikes at the back of his head and his right cheek was wrinkled with the imprint of sheets. He wore Castiel’s dark red hoodie unzipped, so that when Castiel turned to say good morning, he was greeted by Dean’s freckled chest, nipples hard in the chill air.

Dean rubbed his eyes with his fists and blinked solemnly at Castiel. “That’s my shirt,” he mumbled groggily as he moved toward the counter.

Castiel smiled shyly and handed Dean a mug. “You want any milk or sugar?” he asked.

Dean shook his head, “Black,” he said, and sipped slowly. “‘S early,” Dean groused, and reached out for Castiel’s hips. He laid his head on Castiel’s shoulder and sighed, familiar and easy. Castiel nosed at Dean’s neck, enjoying the sleep-sweat and lingering scent of sex Dean’s skin gave off. He wondered if Dean was this cozy with everyone he slept with. Castiel’s stomach sank at the thought.

Dean rubbed his cheek against Castiel’s, their day old scruff catching in places. Castiel turned his face and planted a small kiss against the side of Dean’s mouth. Dean pulled back abruptly. Castiel tensed, figuring whatever spell they’d been under from the night before had broken with the sun.

“Do you have a toothbrush?” Dean asked.

Castiel was so surprised, he kissed Dean sleepily, morning breath and all.


End file.
